


Office Hours

by TriplePirouette



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Meet-Cute, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: Tumblr Ask Box Fic based on the prompt: Modern au where Peggy is a new professor at the university that Steve also teaches at - Tumblr's womenarethesequelTechnically finished but I may add on one day.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Office Hours

He had a reputation. 

Well, based on gossip it seemed all of the teachers had some sort of reputation. It was a small liberal arts college and it seemed their gossip mill was worse than her high school’s. She was sure she’d have her own reputation in days, if she didn’t have one already.

It seemed asinine that as their criminal justice professor her office was in the arts building and not the humanities building, but she was new, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

The first time she passed his classroom all she saw was a mess. There were tarps and boxes and colors everywhere and little to no organization. Her office was right across from the disaster he called a classroom, and for the two weeks leading up to classes she didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of him. 

She’d been warned he was quiet and elusive. One professor warned he bordered on antisocial. According to RateMyProfessor.com he was listed as a fairly easy good grade, helpful, always at his office hours, and finally, overwhelmingly by the female students, listed at good looking. 

The classroom took shape over the few weeks before students arrived. Slowly supplies were put away and tarps revealed easels and pottery wheels. By the time classes started there was an ordered chaos and she looked forward to peeking through the window of her small, drab office to see the bright colors of his studio. 

He was, she discovered very quickly, incredibly good looking. He had a painting class during her Tuesday office hours. It was the only time during the first semester she ever caught a glimpse of him. She’d watch as he taught through both her window and his open door when she had blessed little to do. She’d watch him walk from student to student, catching glimpses of him here and there. She became bold, eventually, and under the guise of being more approachable during her office hours started propping her door open, as well. 

She could hear his beautiful tenor talking about impressionists and brush strokes with her door open. She daydreamed to his lectures on color theory and doodled when he explained chiaroscuro. She loved that when the students were given free time to work on their projects he played music that fit the assignment: classical for replicating the Greco-Roman style, jazz for Picasso inspired pieces, ambient sounds for still life. She was starting to wonder, as winter break drew closer, how she could ever find a way to introduce herself after spying on him for what felt like so long. 

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break when she found herself headed back to her office early. They’d suffered an early snowstorm and only half her class, the half that lived on campus she noted, had made it to class. She was already tired and cranky and sore from digging her own car out of the snow in order to make it to class this morning. She’d taken pity on the kids, answered questions about the homework, and dismissed them early.

She fairly skated down the sidewalks, only half shoveled and slick under her dress shoes. She was desperate to impress, hoping to keep this job into next year, and had opted for business casual flats instead of the even more sensible snow boots.

She arrived at the arts building earlier than she ever had on a Tuesday, and she was so surprised to see him standing there, in a paint stained polo and slacks, locking up his classroom, that she forgot to pay attention to where she was stepping. As soon as she put her slick dress shoes on the wet tile, she went sliding. In her effort to regain her balance she twisted and felt an all too familiar sensation.

She couldn’t quite remember if she cried out as she was going down, or after she landed hard on her tailbone, but she did remember that the words that came out of her mouth were not to be said in polite company.

Peggy sat up, reaching for her bag as he rushed to her side, slipping a little himself even though he had on rubber soled sneakers. “Are you ok?” She opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head and continued before she could. “No, not ok. Here.” He reached out, helping her up. “I’ve told them a thousand times they need to put one of those all-weather rugs in here. I can’t tell you how many times kids have wiped out after a snow fall like this.”

Peggy got to her feet, her hands still in his as she smiled at him. “Thank you. I suppose it does make me feel a little better that I’m not the only one.”

He laughed nervously. “No, not at all.” He noticed they were still holding hands and pulled his back, rubbing his together nervously. “Oh!” he bent and started picking up the papers that fell out of her messenger bag when she’d hit the floor, nervously trying to straighten them. “I’m sorry, they’re a little wet. And crinkled.”

Peggy smiled, limping around and grabbing the rest. “No worries, only my notes. I can print them out again if need be.”

He stopped, watching her limp around. “You’re hurt!”

She stopped and realized how she was walking. “Oh, it’s nothing.” She tried to put her full weight on her leg in the next step, but it nearly collapsed under her.

He was by her side, holding her up with a hand on her elbow and one around her hip, before she could hit the floor. “That’s not nothing.”

“Had surgery on that ACL more than once,” she murmured. “If it’s torn again, I swear…”

Her face was close to his as he held her up. She’d had her balance for long moments now, but neither moved away. All at once Peggy realized that while she was standing here, enjoying the feel of his arm around her waist and wondering if he’d run if she kissed him, that there was a very real possibility that he had no idea who she was. “Good lord! I’ve forgotten myself. I’m Peggy.”

Steve smiled at her. “Professor Carter.” He nodded. “Your office is across from my studio.” He cleared his throat and stepped away, holding out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

~*~

* * *

He had a reputation.

He knew it, he just didn’t care. He wasn’t one to attend big college functions or even little faculty meetings. He just wanted to teach art. He’d had trouble, at first, navigating the social aspect of the small college, he wanted nothing to do with happy hours and socializing outside, but after a while they’d started to leave him alone, and the head of his department had come to see him as competent and dependable.

He still had the errant new teacher, or old professor, try to get him to go out for drinks, or even the odd invitation for a date, but he always declined.

He liked to keep his personal life personal and his professional life professional.

He didn’t squash any of the rumors, but never gave credence to any of them, either.

That didn’t mean he didn’t like to know what was going on around the school, or things that were happening. He was just quiet about it.

Even after years at the school, his office was still in the theater building. Though he still oversaw the construction and painting of most of the scenery for the theater’s shows, his heart was in the fine art classes he taught: the pottery and painting and drawing. There was an empty office right across from that studio, and he’d been asking for almost two years to move there.

He was gutted when he heard it was going to belong to the new Criminal Justice teacher.

It took weeks for him to get a glimpse of her. Her name plate went up by the door, along with a small plant and a coffee mug on her desk.

He couldn’t find any Professor Peggy Carter anywhere, but he did find a mention of an Agent Peggy Carter, formerly of Shield, who had been honored after a career ending injury during the takedown of a terrorist organization known as Hydra. 

That shifted him from angry to intensely curious.

As soon as her office hours went up next to her name on the door he knew he was going to have a hard time finding an excuse to meet her. If she was in her office, he was either teaching his scene shop class or in his own office hours halfway across campus. Except for the day he taught his advanced techniques class. Her office hours were smack in the middle of the class, but it was something.

From the middle of the room, where he often taught, he could see right into her office. Most days he was looking at inky blackness of the empty room. But on Wednesdays…

The first time he saw her he didn’t think it was her. It couldn’t have been, not based on the things the article said she did. He’d been imagining someone large, muscular… someone who did Crossfit and MMA and who looked like a badass. She was gorgeous. She was soft and curvy and had luscious bright red lips and long brown hair and she wore heels and skirts and there was no way she could have been the woman who took down fifteen highly trained terrorists with just a knife and three feet of rope with a torn ACL.

And then he saw her with Tompkins.

Brad Tompkins was a notorious junior who thought his father’s influence and enough money could pass any class for him. He was rude and indignant and there were rumors of harassment allegations against him from both students and professors. He’d taken a pottery class thinking it would be an easy A. Steve had taken great delight in failing him after he’d done nothing but play with clay in class and refused to show up to the final.

Steve had grown used to seeing Peggy’s calm, serene face as she did work, her look of concentration as she graded papers or prepped classes, and her soft, understanding face when she helped upset or confused students maneuver her class.

There was a moment, though, where Peggy was talking with Tompkins, and she looked at the boy. Steve had been in the perfect spot, at the perfect time, to see this look. And without a doubt he knew this woman could take out a squad of trained killers. He didn’t need to hear her voice to tell the tone she was taking, or to read her lips to feel the importance of her words. Steve found reasons to hover by the window next to the door and watch as she took the boy to task. The young man slinked away from her office, and the next day the teachers were discussing how he’d actually been in the library that night.

He was impressed.

And smitten.

The nice thing about his advanced classes was that they rarely needed more than a little direction when working on their own projects. He was hands off with them, leaving them to explore and try new things but available to help when they needed or wanted more. This left him time during those classes to work on his own art.

Sometimes he would participate in whatever the lesson was, creating a Picasso style piece of his own room, or a still life of plastic fruit in red hues. Slowly, though, he found himself drawn to an even more interesting subject.

He drew her profile first. She was working at her computer and they were working with charcoals. She didn’t need to look at her hands while she typed, and her profile was steady. It called to him to sketch as he stared at her, and he couldn’t ignore it. Light and shade on brown butcher paper did her little justice, even when he dipped into the pastels for a radiant red to bring her lips to life.

The next week they were working on line abstracts, and he called to mind the way he’d seen her leaning in her doorway once, talking to another teacher. He let the line move on, unbroken, outlining her hips and the long line of her calves, the sharpness of her heels and bounce of her hair, twisting as he crossed her arms over her chest and meandering through the gentle slope of her nose. 

The students were focusing on finding depth in two dimensions. He pulled out his sketch book and focused on her legs. She’d started keeping her door open, and his door was always open, and from his little desk he could see straight into her office and by god were her legs distracting.

By November he had nearly a dozen drawings of her. Some from her sitting there, some from memory, and all both something he was proud of and something he found utterly embarrassing. He’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t just walk over and introduce himself- it had been too long, and he couldn’t quite come up with a good way for them to “accidently” meet.

He was locking up his classroom for Thanksgiving break when he heard a bang followed by a string of curses in what he’d come to recognize as her perfect English accent.

He didn’t think twice about running over to her aid, and managed to make an ass of himself trying to help her stand and pick up her papers. It wasn’t until her was holding her, quite a bit more intimately than barely colleagues should be touching and quite a bit less than he wanted to be touching her, that she actually introduced herself.

“Can I help you to your office?” he asked, loathe to let this chance go by.

She smiled sadly. “No, I think it’s best I go home and ice my knee.” She shrugged, and he could almost imagine she was as nervous as he felt. “I wouldn’t mind a hand out to the car, though, if you don’t mind.”

Steve put his arm out and she threaded her hand through it. “Happy to help.” He pushed the door open and they were both hit by the bitter cold wind. “I’ll call maintenance in the morning, get one of those rugs out here.”

Peggy laughed as he helped her step down the curb into the parking lot. She pointed to the back corner where her car was. Usually she hated the far parking spot, but at the moment, on Steve’s arm, she wasn’t complaining. “Oh, I think I’ve learned my lesson. Rubber wellies from now on.”

He chuckled with her. “I can’t say it’s a bad idea.” They were quiet as they navigated a particularly slick patch. “Gosh, I hate to sound overbearing, but are you sure you’re going to be alright getting home?”

Peggy stopped as they reached the back of her car. She smiled up, nodding. “It’s painful, but it’s been worse. I’m sure it just needs a little rest.”

Steve bobbed his head, nodding and stepping back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Good, good.” He stepped back, giving her room to step between her car and the one next to it. “You know, I’d just…” He pulled out his phone, “Let me give you my phone number. Just, just call or text or something, when you get home. These roads get slick and…”

He hadn’t even looked up from his babbling with his phone vibrated that he’d received her airdropped contact information. He smiled, and wordlessly texted her a quick smile emoji, so she’d have his number, as well.

She laughed when she got it, and waved her phone at him. “I’ll let you know when I’m home safe and sound, ok?”

“Good.” He watched her get in her car and start the engine. He shoved his hands and phone back in his pocket, picking across the parking lot to his own car.

His phone vibrated with a message before he’d even gotten his key in the ignition.

_It was nice to finally meet you. I feel like I know you after listening to your class each week._

He smiled. His heart leapt a little at the idea that this wasn’t once sided.

_Nice to meet you, finally, too. I’m sorry it took you falling for me to introduce myself._

He started the car, but stopped short of pulling out as he got another text.

_Maybe we should get to know one another better? Then I can really fall for you._

He almost stopped breathing, then smiled as four more text came in hard and fast.

_Oh, I’m sorry._

_That was so inappropriate._

_We barely know each other and you were just being kind to me._

_I am so embarrassed._

He laughed to himself. He didn’t know what she knew, or thought she knew about him based on his reputation, but this was going to be fun. He texted back:

_If you fall, I promise I’ll catch you. I can’t let a beautiful woman get hurt more than once on my watch. Get home. Text me when you’re there._

He waited what seemed like forever but was only seconds before he got her reply.

_Will do. Drive safe._


End file.
